


Congruence

by NaturalAddict



Category: Merlin (TV)
Genre: Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Body Dysmorphic Disorder, Eating Disorders, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, I'm Sorry, M/M, Pain, Remix, Sad with a Happy Ending, Self-Esteem Issues, Self-Hatred, Short One Shot, Well - Freeform, but it's meant to be happy, or as happy as this fic would allow it, sooo, the ending is kinda bittersweet
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-15
Updated: 2019-07-15
Packaged: 2020-06-28 11:27:02
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 975
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19811338
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/NaturalAddict/pseuds/NaturalAddict
Summary: He is imperfections that must be rectified.He is nothing.No, he thinks resolutely as he pries his eyes away from the mirror. But he will be.





	Congruence

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [watching](https://archiveofourown.org/works/19726846) by [themetgayla](https://archiveofourown.org/users/themetgayla/pseuds/themetgayla). 



> Hhhhhh here take this unprompted gift

Merlin is many things, none of which he likes or has liked or will like.

He is Emrys, for one, which grants him the power of... Never being able to be himself, to even find out if he would have liked whoever that was. 

Of course, his sense of self isn't entirely null. It's just drowned by everything that is thrust upon him, from magic to destiny toー

"Would you like some food?" 

The words swim above his head, as though out of his reach. He looks for it, but there is nothing out of the ordinary except for that highly unanticipated, pointless question. 

What he wants has never mattered.

It's with stuttered excuses and panicked pleas that he earns a way out of the chambers, away from that ever so piercing gaze. 

(no matter how much he pleads, he never earns a way out and away from his own assessment, the strident awareness of each and every one of his shortcomings) 

Merlin is no-time-for-it breakfast, sorry-too-busy lunch and no-too-tired supper. He is _do this_ and _do that_ and never _thank you_. He is insufferable and useless and insolent, but gods, he is trying, even when it seems like he isn't. 

He is a shadow that follows itself, that follows Arthur, unnoticed by anyone else.

Except someone has noticed, now.

That frightens him, because it wasn't supposed to happen. Not now. He is flawed, unprepared, with his big ears and graceless limbs. He... 

He is in love. 

Really, how could he not be?

(how could he not, when he's so _ugly-fat-stupid_ and does not know his place)

Every instance of kindness washes over him and goes straight to his helpless heart, the mindless banter, the sense of togetherness so perfectly solid he's sure he's imagining it sometimes, because it's too good for him. 

Arthur's too good for him.

* * *

He isー

The one who stands, looking in the mirror. The one who looks back. 

ーis the protuberance of his collarbones, the space left unfilled when he wraps his fingers around his wrist, around his arm. The exact width separating his thighs, cheekbones that are too faint, ribs that look too large, spine that only shows when he bends over, hipbones that he can barely hold onto, and the disgusting curve of his stomach. The swelling which sticks to the sides of his jaw when he has _yes please more_ for an unnamed meal too many times in a row. The darkened marks right bellow his knuckles which catch his eyes far too many times (but it's fine, isn't it? as long as he is the only one to see those. as long as he doesn't know what it is that he is seeing)

He is imperfections that must be rectified. 

He is nothing. 

No, he thinks resolutely as he pries his eyes away from the mirror. But he will be.

Things carry on as usual, making him almost relived, until the world falls apart over dinner. Dinner with Arthur. He can't even bring himself to enjoy it, can't remember ever enjoying anything that is given to him. Not without questioning. 

Although, no amount of questioning will ever bring him to relish this particular gesture. Arthur is torturing him. Lying is torturing him. Love is torturing him. (he is torturing him)

* * *

Merlin is a cold, dirty body on a cold, dirty floor.

He is not who he was ( _uglier-fatter-stupider)_ but he is not who he will be ( _Someone Else_ ) and he would rather die than be stuck in-between. 

If what he wants doesn't matter, then at least, he can focus on what he doesn't want, and achieve some sort of balance. 

The world is spinning and (he is) falling apart faster than anyone can put (him) back together, and still, words that don't come from him somehow manage to echo in his broken mind, past the barriers he has been forced to build, and elicit an honest response. 

_Live for me._

Arthur's words. Arthur's voice. Arthur's request.

_I love you._

Merlin is a cold, dirty body lying on a cold, dirty floor, and he was wrong before. While he still doesn't relish Arthur's efforts _now,_ he thinks... Someday he might. 

Because he loves him, too. (enough to live?) Enough to try. 

He reaches up. 

Grabs onto soft fabric, and holds it. Holds onto it. Like a lifeline.

The future is uncertain, as are many more things. 

It will take time, that much he knows. To undo all the damage that's been done to him by his own hand. Time, and effort. He feels so tired already. Worn out, weary, unable to uphold his promise. A part of him wants to give up. Because he is afraid of failing, but also because he's afraid of succeeding. 

What will be left for him, then? What will be left of him? 

(a coil of terror shifts in his emptied stomach as he feels a the familiarity of denial slipping away, knows that he can't go back to the way he was even if he wanted to) 

If he doesn't face the problem, he will have to face the guilt. 

If he fights, he might lose Arthur. If he doesn't, he definitely will. 

Crawling out of this hole he's dug will be hard, when falling in had been so incredibly easy, but only in one of those scenarios there is a possibility of finding anything worthwhile. 

Happiness that doesn't fade with a bite of food or a glimpse of his reflexion, that he doesn't have to sacrifice everything else for. 

Happiness that doesn't hurt, even if other things will. 

Merlin is a stiff, weak body in strong, safe arms. A liar. A sorcerer. "Magic itself." 

A servant loved by his King. 

The world settles; his eyes close. 

He is not perfect, but he is not nothing. 

Doesn't have to be either. 


End file.
